


What would I give

by MostFacinorous



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Beach Sex, Character Death Fix, Fish out of Water, Handling of raw fish, Holding Hands, M/M, Mermaid Magic, Merman Bucky, Presumed Dead, Psychic Abilities, Rimming, Sex In A Cave, Sirens, Spells & Enchantments, Voice Kink, Webbed Hands, fangs, merman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 20:17:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1912374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostFacinorous/pseuds/MostFacinorous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bucky joined the Navy, Steve was still sick, weak, and unable to follow. It wasn't until after Bucky's death that he got better... but years later, when Steve and Bucky meet again, it's not just Steve's health and physique that's changed. Bucky has some secrets... and a gleaming silver tail. </p><p>Merman Bucky fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What would I give

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Decadent_Hedonism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decadent_Hedonism/gifts).



At Bucky's funeral, Steve stood stock still, certain that if he moved, if he turned, if he so much as reached a hand up to brush away the tears that were still falling, he would shake apart. 

He'd always known Bucky would die being a hero, but he'd always figured they'd go together-- it would be because of something he did. The lack of guilt when that turned out not to be the case didn't make anything easier, though.

There was no casket, because there was nothing to bury. 

Bucky had been lost at sea. 

He'd tried begging him to enlist in the reserves, or the army, or the air force. Steve had spent his entire life afraid of the sea, and if he hadn't already been weak and sickly and unable to enlist because of it, he still wouldn't have been able to follow his friend. 

At the time, he'd wondered if maybe that wasn't the point. But on his leaves, it became obvious that Bucky legitimately loved the ocean, loved being out on it and all the workings of the ships he served on. Steve felt happy for him, glad that his friend was doing what he loved. But he missed him, too.

He'd only been out for eight months when the letter came in. There had been a man overboard, and Bucky went after him.  
Neither of them were recovered, and at the time of the writing, the other man had not been identified. Maybe a stowaway or the survivor of some other ship's misfortune, but not one of their own. 

How like Bucky, didn't matter who it was, if he was around, he felt like it was his job to save them.

Slowly, the rest of their friends trickled away, some offering him rides, invitations to pubs, some just clasping his shoulder as they passed. It didn't matter. They all knew that Bucky was his closest friend, that they'd grown up together. It felt like part of his chest had been torn out, and given how little was there to start with, he wasn't completely convinced he'd survive it. 

But he knew that Bucky would want him to. 

In the will, Bucky gave all of his bank account to Steve. It turned out that Bucky had been well liked, and his friends on board all had heard his fond tales of his ill friend, the one back home that he had enlisted to help support. They had all pitched in a little bit, because they said they owed it to Bucky, and he woulda wanted it that way. They were the ones who showed up on Steve's stoop, interrupting him counting his savings from his sock drawer and trying to figure out how to afford both food and rent.  
They stayed for an hour, bought food from the bodega down the street, and told him stories of his friend's daring, his feats of strength and his kindness that was well regarded by all of their crew. That was how he found out that the reason Bucky had picked the navy was for the sign on bonus-- the biggest of all the branches. 

The bank statement, when he got it, was enough to cover the surgery to straighten his spine, as well as to keep him eating and with a roof under his head for long enough to recover and then some. He wasn't proud of it, but he cried in front of those Navy boys. 

Bucky's death meant that he would have a new chance at life. Always the hero. Always.  
Five years had passed since he'd lost Bucky, and Steve was a changed man. The surgery and physical therapy had helped him to get in shape, the workouts had helped to build his lung capacity, as well as muscle. He was now a man that Uncle Sam would be more than happy to sign up, but something always held him back. 

Fear, probably. It wasn't the same if he wasn't fighting alongside Bucky. And even as strong as he was now, even though he was an excellent swimmer and had taken every certification he could, he couldn't bring himself to get too far out at sea. But neither could he quite manage to stay away from it. So Steve found himself on the beach, working as a lifeguard. It wasn't too bad, kept his toes wet and his feet in the sand. He got to help out timid swimmers and save all the girls who suddenly developed a cramp while swimming directly in his line of sight. 

And when it was quiet, and no one was there, when the sun was just coming up or the last rays of the day were kissing the water, he just looked out over the waves and sighed.  
When the fog rolled in, he could almost hear Bucky chiding him into a sweater, for fear of him catching a cold. 

Maybe it was just loneliness driving him a little batty, but Steve didn't really mind. He had a good life, good friends, a nice place to live, no real complaints, other than the hole in his chest that ached from the moisture when the cool air blew in off the sea. 

It was an early morning, foggy and gray, when he first caught sight of what he started thinking of as his hallucination. 

Like those guys in the desert, dying of thirst and seeing water everywhere, maybe he was so busy wanting Bucky that he just thought he was seeing him. 

No one swam off that side of the rocks, anyway-- the undertow was too strong and the rocks were treacherous. There were all kinds of signs posted to keep folks away, and it had been more than year since anyone had tried. Still, Steve had nearly gone running into the surf when he saw a man swimming out there, but when the man turned, he'd stopped cold. 

Bucky was dead. Had been for years. And if he wasn't, Steve would have been the first one to know. And just like that he was gone. There was no towel, no cars, no sign that anyone had gone for a swim, let alone his long dead friend.  
So Steve tried to forget about it. 

Until it happened again. 

About a week after he'd discovered it was a regular occurrence, Steve got up an hour early and headed to the beach. He wrapped himself up in a thick blue sweatshirt and scrambled to the top of the rocks, then sat very still and waited. 

He'd never been there when the hallucination surfaced before, only come upon him once he was already partially above water. But just as the sun started to paint the sky and break up the night, there he was, dark hair breaching first, then skin that streamed water. Steve leaned forward, just a few feet away now, and from here, even in the semi dark, he could see the gills, the eyelids that were like thin membranes and slid sideways over the tops of Bucky's eyes. 

But there was no doubting it from this close; this was Bucky. 

“Bucky?” He called out softly, and Bucky's body jerked to face him, clearly startled. He made as if to resubmerge, but Steve held out his hand in a pleading gesture. 

“No, wait, don't-- I'm sorry. You look just like... do you know me? Steve?” He pressed his palm to his chest, and Bucky cocked his head, coming up a little closer. 

He made a small distressed whining sound, something more like a whistle, that Steve realized was being released through his gills. Steve's eyes widened. 

“You do know me, don't you? You're Bucky.” 

The man made a distinct snorting noise and shook his head, backing up a bit. Steve raised his hands. 

“Ok, I'm sorry. But if you aren't Bucky, who-- what-- are you?” 

The man swam closer, reaching up to grab hold of the rock, and Steve saw with a start that his hands were webbed. The man pulled his torso up out of the water, and Hummed low in his throat, considering Steve closely. 

Steve saw movement behind him, and realized that it was part of him. The man was thrashing his tail in aggravation, and Steve finally got it.

“You're a merman.” He breathed. The man blew out a melodious single note that sounded somehow sarcastic. 

“Yeah, well, sorry if I'm a little slow. I thought I'd imagined you until this morning. And it doesn't help that you look like my best friend, Bucky. He died five years ago today...” He trailed off, afraid to incite the merman's ire again. 

Instead though, the merman looked concerned, his tail stirring up the water with a little more urgency. He raised his fingers and wriggled them, the membranous skin between each digit following suit. Steve was confused, but raised his hand, too, wondering if that was a request. 

Another impatient snort, then the merman touched his hand, a slight tap on the tp of each finger, one after the other. One, two, three, four, five.  
“Yeah, five years. This is the anniversary, actually.” He wondered if Merpeople even had time. 

The merman tapped his own chest, then held up his hand, splayed wide again.  
“You're five? You must mature pretty fast, I mean, other than the merman bit, you look just like him, and he'd be thirty this year.” 

The distressed/annoyed sound came again. The merman wedged himself on the rock and held himself in place with his elbow.  
He pointed at Steve and clucked something that sounded like “Yuck”, a very nasally bugle, and then held up the five fingers. Then he pointed at himself, and gave a series of sweet, soft sounds, and held up his other hand, with the five fingers. He looked back and forth between the two, and smashed his hands together nearly violently.  
“You think you and Bucky are the same person? Because, honestly, I thought so too, but I can tell you, I grew up with him, and he never had a tail.” He tried to keep his tone light, but he felt breathless in a way he hadn't since he got his asthma under control. 

The merman rolled his eyes and held up his hand again, this time with a gesture for Steve to do the same. He pressed their palms together gently, and the slow slide of the moist aquatic skin over his own felt intimate, almost like a kiss. But that was nothing next to the way the merman's eyes slid shut, and suddenly a series of pictures began flashing through Steve's mind. 

Falling into the water from up high; he'd jumped. Strong arms cutting through the water, looking, searching for something. A hand grabbed around his ankle and pulled him under. Several more joined. Thrashing as he ran out of air, as he started to black out. And then he didn't. It reversed. He opened the eyes that had drifted shut, and he found himself breathing the air from the mouth of the person he'd jumped in after. A dame. A beautiful one. He tried to breathe the way he always did, and swallowed water. He didn't choke though, just felt a strange sensation, like something moving very close to him, on either side of his neck. He reached up to brush it away, and discovered it was him. And he had more between his fingers, he was taller, longer, his body shifted from up and down to back, somehow. Startled, he broke free of the hands that held him. He screeched at the merwoman and darted away, already much faster than she had apparently expected. 

He didn't remember where he was or how he'd got there-- all he knew was that he had to get away from the hands and the big black thing that loomed near the surface. He could see through the churning and dark waters now, see more men coming in, coming after them. 

Terrified and unwilling to be caught again, he swam away. 

Headed back towards where the water got warmer, closer to shore. Somehow he knew that the merpeople liked the cold, deeper waters. It was easier to hide there. But he wanted to hide from them.  
For five years, he'd swum around and around this section of the coast. He liked these rocks. And then Steve had found him. 

He looked a little like a memory. A face swam up into Steve's vision-- his own face, and he opened his eyes and broke their touch, excited.

“That's me! That was me, back when, back before-- I know I look different, but I'm the same person, the same Steve. Bucky, it IS you!” He was so overwhelmed with emotion that he couldn't find the right words. 

Bucky hummed lowly, then gave a sad little whistle and turned to look at where the sun was peering up over the horizon. He pushed himself off the rock, but hesitated, chirping demandingly at Steve.

Steve laughed.  
“I'll be back tomorrow. Promise.” He nodded, understanding Bucky's fear of people, having seen brief flashes of other times he'd been found or nearly found.  
He watched as the head of his friend disappeared under the waves, and took several deep breaths before reporting to his station for his shift. 

Observing was nearly mindless, and he was glad of it. He had a lot to think about. 

When he returned the next morning, it was the same gray sky, the same soft slaps of wave against rock.  
He'd come early, hoping that Bucky would, too. After five years, a single hour wasn't enough time and he was hungry for more, greedy for it. 

He hadn't told anyone yet. Bucky had only had Steve for family, and his friends in the Navy hadn't really kept in touch. Besides, Steve knew it would have sounded insane. 

He'd told his journal, but that was about it. He'd spent the night in front of his fireplace, sketching out what he imagined Bucky must look like now, under the water, how his tail joined his body. 

And when he slept, he'd dreamed of drowning, but unlike Bucky's memory, he wasn't fighting. That was almost more terrifying. 

His thoughts were broken when Bucky's head broke the surface, and he smiled as he swam towards him. 

“Hey.” He greeted when he figured he was close enough to hear him without his shouting. “I was thinking... Will you swim that way? Just a little ways? I want to swim with you.” He gestured in the opposite direction of his post, well aware that the water will be frigid this early in the day, but convinced that Bucky would be more comfortable if they were firmly on his turf, so to speak. 

Bucky wrinkled his brow and lifted his hand. Steve clasped it, and Bucky sent an image of Steve, from before, weak and afraid, going ashen at the beach and dragging himself back onto the sand with his arms, while a hurt leg trailed after him uselessly.

Steve shuddered, remembering when that had happened, but also firmed his resolve, and called to mind a memory of the classes he'd taken, of himself in progressively larger pools, firm breast strokes cutting through the water. Bucky broke away, surprised and considering, then nodded, though he still looked hesitant.

“I'll be fine, I promise.” Bucky looked down at his own hands, then dropped back and into the sea, concern still written on his face. 

Steve slid and hurried his way over the rocks and toward the beach, tugging his sweatshirt off as he went. He dropped it in the sand and tugged his shoes off to weight it down with, then stepped into the water. 

It was cold, colder in reality than he'd imagined, but he ignored it. He waded in to his waist, then deeper, scanning for Bucky as he went.  
When he was nearly chest deep, suddenly there he was in front of him. He stumbled backward in surprise, and a strong hand grabbed him by the bicep, keeping his head up out of the water. 

“Still trying to save everyone, huh Bucky?” He asked, teasing, and Bucky huffed and splashed at him. 

Steve laughed and returned the favor. 

Splashes devolved into swimming off and chasing one another and, finally, Bucky got playful and pulled Steve under, releasing him instantly so that he could bob back to the surface.  
Still, Steve's eyes had been open and there had been just enough light to see the silvery appendage that those who had found him after he fell had given him.

Steve coughed out a laugh, just to show that there were no hurt feelings, and then he began to tread water while thinking about how to frame his request. 

“The sun's not quite up yet, and I'm freezing.” He finally settled on, only realizing how true it was when his chattering teeth made his words barely comprehensible.  
“I need to go back on land. Will you come with me, just for a bit? I want to see you.” 

Bucky's face became stormy as the sky above them, and he looked back over his shoulder, causing the tip of his long fin to flip upwards. He turned back to Steve and shook his head no, firmly. He began backing away, and Steve knew he'd touched a nerve.

“Wait, Bucky-- it's okay, you don't--” He reached out, but Bucky, seeing Steve advance, had already turned and dove, his tail streaming behind him until he was suddenly gone. Steve crawled out of the waves, cursing himself for pushing too hard, trying to move too fast. 

The next morning he came early, and he brought with him some sushi grade salmon. He wasn't sure what Bucky ate, but he reasoned it wasn't like he could cook whatever he caught. And if he had been keeping to the shallows, the fish he found would be small-- unless he ate seaweed? He could only hope he didn't offend. 

Still, he wasn't sure what else would work as a peace offering to someone who was part fish. And he remembered when they were younger, for Bucky's birthday, they always saved up a little to have Salmon and lemons. 

So he just had to hope Bucky would show up, that he didn't hate him now, that he wouldn't be disgusted by Steve's attempt at making amends. Lots of hoping. 

But that was how he found himself on a rock, clutching raw salmon wrapped in newspaper, peering out into the darkness across the ocean. 

He nearly fell off his perch when Bucky's head popped up at the edge of the rock, his approach having been silent and invisible. He was certain that he deserved that, though. He stayed back, too, able to see the wariness in the way Bucky hovered there. 

“I'm sorry.” Steve said, locking eyes with Bucky. “I didn't want to run you off, or make you feel bad. I just... I've missed you.” He looked down and remembered what he was holding.  
“I remember you used to love Salmon-- I don't know how you eat now, but if you can have it... I brought you some.” 

Bucky's webbed fingers twitched and his face betrayed his interest, but he didn't say anything. Didn't make any of the noises that Steve had become so good at interpreting, didn't lift his hand to share any thoughts. 

So Steve crept hesitantly closer, and then laid the parcel out and unrolled it. 

Even before the pink flesh was visible, he could see Bucky's nostrils twitch and his eyes dialate. Just like a human, his stomach groaned. Steve furrowed his brow.  
“There isn't much in the way of fish in this area-- how have you been eating?” 

Bucky gave a very human shrug, but reached forward with a greedy hand, his eyes darting between the fish and Steve like he was expecting a trap, or making sure it was okay. Steve nodded encouragingly and nudged the fish closer to Bucky, who grasped it with a shill noise of triumph and brought it to his mouth. 

Steve wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed the teeth before-- they were not flat on front like a human's, but concave, and each tapered down into a fine point. These were not teeth made for grinding-- they were for tearing into flesh. He supposed that answered the question for certain about what kind of diet Bucky survived on. 

Steve watched as Bucky shredded and consumed the fish, and when it was gone he looked up at Steve, like he was still hungry. Steve willed himself not to back away; despite everything that had changed, this was his friend. He pushed the thought of how quickly he could consume meat away. 

Bucky instantly looked regretful, and ducked his head, making apologetic cooing sounds. 

“What's wrong?” Steve asked, confused by the sudden change in demeanor. Bucky waved his hand over the now empty newspaper, and then gestured like he was shoving something towards Steve. 

“Oh, no, I already ate. That was all for you. I don't-- do you need me to bring you more? I don't want you wasting away just to be able to visit me.” He remembered all the times Bucky had gone hungry or had a smaller meal, back when he was sick all the time, in order to be able to afford to nurse him back to health. It mad a sad twinge start in his chest, and he looked back to Bucky now. 

Bucky who was looking at the newspaper, running a clawed finger along the words. 

“You used to read these all the time.” Steve voiced the realization aloud and passed the paper to Bucky. “I know it's not good for carrying around with you these days, but... I'd be happy to bring you the paper and a fish every day if you like. And more, if you need.” He wasn't sure exactly what he thought would happen, how they could keep this up or for how long. 

Bucky clicked at him and raised his hand, and Steve moved into the grasp, getting used to it now. 

An image came, one of their Christmas dinners, with ham and potatoes, green beans and salad, plate upon plate of food. The scene changed, and it was cold and wet and dark, an underwater world, with tiny silver fish, no more filling than a single marshmallow each. Hunting them was exhausting. He could only catch a couple at a time, and then his presence would drive them away, until he chased them down, circled til they calmed, and attacked again. He could hunt like this all day and still never be full. 

“I'll make you a deal--” Steve said, keeping their fingers entwined while he spoke, and sending the images to go with his words. “Come back at night fall. I'll bring plenty of fish, and a blanket, and I'll put it down by the water's edge, on the beach where we swam. You don't have to leave the sea entirely. But I'll bring food for you and for me. It'll be like a picnic.” He sent images of lunches had on the beach, picnics they'd had in the park, and of the sun setting and the waves on the sand. 

Bucky shivered and took his hand away, but nodded. 

“Alright!” Steve said, excited. “Alright, I have to get to work, so I can get to the market in time for that. I'll see you then!” 

He had only a few minor emergencies that day; nothing to get too worked up about. He handed out an ice pack and a thermal blanket and called one boy's mother. By the time he got to sign out, he had made a long list of things to get or bring, and the other lifeguards on duty had realized something was up, and started teasing him about finally having met the right girl. 

He'd just smiled to himself a little and shook his head. If they only knew. 

The fish shops at the wharf probably all thought he was insane, but they didn't complain when he spent a few hundred dollars on fillets and clams, shrimp and even some of the whole fish that were the catch of the day specials. By the time his shopping was done, he'd probably bought nearly forty pounds of raw seafood that he had no intention to cook. 

He was halfway back to the beach when he realized he ought to pick up something for himself as well, so he ducked into a grocery store and grabbed one of their rotisserie chickens, a small bag of steak fries, and a bottle of wine. Good enough. 

Around the time the last of the light was starting to fade and he had lit a small jar candle, he heard the sound of something being dragged up the beach. He looked up, concerned, but it was just Bucky.  
He'd set the blanket right at the edge of the tide line for this time of night, so that Bucky could stay on the water side and stay wet. 

He seemed comfortable enough sidling up in the dark, though his entire body was coated with sand that Steve knew would get everywhere.

“Hang on one sec before we get started.” He said. He dumped the ice out of the styrofoam chest he'd used to transport the meat and took it to the water, filling it before bringing it back.  
“I'm just going to get some of the sand off of you, okay?” He asked, and Bucky rolled himself half way over, taking him further from the blanket and lifting his arms for ease of cleaning. Steve grinned and carefully sloshed the water over his friend. 

It was starting to seem less weird, somehow. Sure, not everyone had a half-fish for a friend, but not everyone got back someone they thought was dead, either. 

Once he was as de-sanded as he was going to get, Steve lifted the candle a little.  
“May I?” he asked. Bucky hesitated, then shrugged and nodded, even though there was fear or something like it all over his face. Steve raised it higher and circled around his friend, careful not to trip over the long tail. 

Bucky turned to look at him over his shoulder, tracking his progress. 

The tail wasn't smooth and seamless the way Steve had thought it would be. There was a visible structure to it, raised ridges like a seahorse, over which the amazingly small scales ran. It ended in a fluke, and had smaller fins three quarters of the way down it, but what really struck him was the color. It was a bright, lustrous silver. 

“It's beautiful, Buck.” He said reverently, itching to draw it. He wondered about the anatomy behind the thing, how it moved through the water, how it propelled him, what sort of power and speed it was capable of. He had the feeling it was deceptively heavy, too. 

He nodded to himself, coming back to sit down across from the merman and replacing the candle between them. Only then did he see the way Bucky's mouth twisted. 

“Really-- I'm glad you're back, and I've never seen anything quite like your tail. It really is magnificent. You remember-- I used to draw? I still do. I wonder if sometime--” He cut himself off, suddenly embarrassed, but Bucky was smiling fondly at him, and he felt himself relax.

“Anyway, dinner! Here--” He started unwrapping the various seafood parcels, naming each as he went. 

Once they were all laid out, he could see Bucky restraining himself from just digging in, his eyes wide and round, obviously impressed by the haul. 

“Seems funny there are so many more fish on land huh?” He asked, teasing. Bucky snorted and gestured at the spread, then at Steve. 

“Oh, no, I brought my own, here.” He opened the tub of salad, the chicken, and the wine, and Bucky nodded, picking up a whitefish fillet that he slurped down while his eyes followed Steve's hands on the bottle. 

“Did you... want some?” Steve asked slowly, unsure if mermen could even have wine. 

Bucky reached out for it, though, so Steve passed it over, trying not to think how the lips that had just touched raw fish was now on the bottle rim.

When he took the bottle back, he had a swig and was surprised at the lack of fish taste. He put the bottle down where Bucky could reach it, and kicked himself for not having thought to bring something more than that for them to drink. 

Bucky hardly seemed to mind, though, having gulped down about half of the food Steve had brought for him now. Steve hurried to catch up on his own dinner, not wanting to be rude. 

“Is all of that okay? I wasn't sure if there was anything you didn't like.” Bucky huffed out an incredulous laugh and lifted the wax paper that the shrimp had been wrapped in, proceeding to lap at it with a tongue that was long, dark spotted, and oddly pointed. Steve found his eyes fixed on the motion, and grew uncomfortable, flushing and averting his gaze. He stuffed a fry in his mouth to cover for it, but he could tell Bucky had seen, because he heard another huffy little laugh, before he saw the webbed hand closing on the neck of the bottle again from the corner of his eye. 

“How much do you normally eat? A day, I mean. I can bring you food in the mornings if you need me to.” 

Bucky looked off towards the sea, taking a heavy slug out of the bottle, and when he sat it back between them, he left his hand raised, though he didn't seem to want to look at Steve. 

He sent pictures of the moon across the sky and the tides turning, of fish moving and swimming through water where the temperature grew warmer, the color changing.  
“No! I can-- I can bring you anything you need. I can-- food, I can have a room of my house turned into a lagoon, I can--” Steve was panicking, realizing that he was about to lose Bucky again, and he couldn't. Not now that he had rediscovered him. His air felt thin and his breaths became gasps. He choked and shuddered, eyes going wide in shock. 

He hadn't had an asthma attack since before Bucky had-- before he'd died, and now... 

The world seemed to tilt and grow darker, and he distantly heard the sound of things being pushed aside. He found himself in Bucky's arms a moment later, the back of his cold fingers stroking across his cheek, so careful not to scratch him with the claws on his fingers. 

“Steve.” It was the voice that brought him back, the desperation and yearning in it, the raw concern... and the familiarity. 

“Bucky?” He sounded hoarse, the word more croaked than spoken. 

Bucky blew out a harsh breath, but his silence was pounding in Steve's ears. 

“You talked, didn't you?” Steve asked, sitting up a little. Like when he was younger, Bucky rolled his eyes and pushed him back down, though instead of a thigh under his head, there was a surprisingly muscular tail. 

Bucky gave him his hand, and showed him visions of Bucky, lost, confused, unused to his new shape, trying to speak to humans. And his voice sent them chasing him through the waves. It didn't matter how far away he stayed. If they heard him, they would dive off of boats, cliffs... and they would drown, or he would grab them up, and they would thrash wildly, driven some kind of crazy with need. 

It was better when they drowned. 

Steve pulled away, shocked and saddened. Bucky hid his face behind hair that, now it had dried, was much longer than Steve had thought. 

“Hey. You're not-- you didn't know, it's not like you were trying to kill them. This is what those others made you. And-- I don't know if you noticed, but I heard you. I'm not drowning or trying to um.” His words failed and his mouth dried up as he remembered the discomfort he'd experienced, watching Bucky lick up the clam juice. 

Bucky looked back down at the man in his lap and raised an eyebrow, and Steve shook his head and lunged upwards, bringing their mouths together. He felt Bucky's sharp teeth as he jerked in surprise at the sudden contact, and Steve felt his own lip split. He pulled back and Bucky looked panicked all over again. 

His strong hands took hold of either side of Steve's head and twisted it from side to side, checking his neck for something. Gills, Steve realized.  
Damn, but he'd been so stupid. 

“Punk.” Bucky murmured, and oh, Steve got the full blast of that voice this time, being fully conscious for it. He felt the arousal hit him like a jolt of electricity, and couldn't help the moan that spilled out of him.  
“Oh my God, Bucky.” Steve said, reaching up to touch his face. 

Bucky took hold of his hand and held it there, pressing his cheek into Steve's cupped palm before turning and pressing his lips to the center of it. 

“I should go.” Bucky whispered. Steve's entire body was quaking with need now. 

“No, please-- I can't lose you again, not now that I just found you! And... if you leave now, Buck, it's got to me. Your voice has got to me. I'll follow you in. You know I will, and...” Steve was squirming in Bucky's grasp, trying to roll over. 

Bucky looked like Steve had slapped him, but he held him still, rolled down onto his back so that Steve was halfway on top of him. Steve hurried to move his legs so that he was straddling that magnificent tail, and Bucky held on to his wrists. 

“I can't let you do that.” He spoke lowly and his voice was so... melodious, so pretty. Steve leaned into him, trying to get closer to the sound, his erecting rubbing against one of the raised portions of the side of his tail. His mouth gaped wordlessly. “You hate the sea, remember?” 

“How-” Steve gasped it out, grinding against his friend like he would die if he didn't. “How could I hate it? It-- gave-- me-- you.” He choked on his own spit, and Bucky let out a dry laugh. His tail undulated under Steve, thrusting back up against him, and Steve's back arched. 

“Don't hate me after.” Bucky said, and it was so plaintive and so full of self loathing that even under the force of his ensorcelled lust, Steve paused. 

“Wanted you before I heard you. You saw, you-- you laughed--” Steve pulled his wrists free and grabbed at Bucky's jaw. He brought their mouths close together and whispered so that as his lips moved, they brushed Bucky's. “Never hate you.” 

Bucky dropped his head into the sand and Steve followed, while Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve's back. Steve began thrusting again, but stilled when he saw Bucky wince in pain.  
“Sorry!” he yelped, unsure what he'd done. Bucky shook his head and brought their hands together. 

He gave him images of scales drying out, the skin under becoming sensitive and rubbed raw by sand. Then he sent images of a small cave, one with an underwater entrance, but a rocky shelf and a chimney style opening for air. On the shelf was a bed of sea weeds-- which would hold some water in them. Enough to keep Bucky wet while he slept. It was, Steve realized with a start, his home. 

“Come with me?” Bucky asked, voice deep and smooth, his own arousal leaking into it and making it impossible for Steve to say no, but through the maintained connection, he felt that if he had had misgivings, if he had been afraid of the pat where he would have to go underwater to get there, Bucky would have let it go. Instead, Steve snuggled into Bucky's neck. 

“Yeah, yeah let's... let's go.” Bucky laughed, presumably at how useless Steve was, or maybe just in joy. Either way, he tightened his grip around Steve and began rolling them downhill, past the remains of the food, and into the waves. 

Steve shuddered as the cold water hit his fevered skin, but he barely had time to worry about that, as Bucky began propelling them along the coast at speeds that rivaled the jet-skis issued to the coast guards. Just when they reached the rocky cliff that cut off the beach from one side to the other, Bucky murmured “Breathe.” into his ear. 

The sound made it feel like the breath had been knocked out of him, but Steve took an obedient deep breath and closed his eyes, and then they were hurtling under the water and forward through what Steve could tell was a reasonably small tunnel. He felt his heel hit the floor of it, and quickly raised his legs to loop loosely around Bucky's tail. 

Another moment, though, and their heads were above water, and Steve could gulp in air.

It was dark inside, of course, but Bucky had managed to get or bring or find a lantern somehow, and in the work of but a few moments, it was lit. Steve looked around, a little saddened to see that other than the seaweed nest, the lantern, and a few water warped books, the cave was empty. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but he got the feeling that even amongst merfolk, this was hardly the Ritz. 

Bucky raised a finger and disappeared back under the surface, so Steve crawled out of the water and onto the shelf, shivering and alone in the dancing light of the oil lamp. He realized suddenly that without Bucky, he would be trapped here-- and he wasn't entirely sure how far up the top opening he could swim. In the low lighting, he couldn't see the water line.

But he trusted his friend. He wouldn't leave him here to die. 

Less than a minute later, Bucky returned, this time carrying with him a bag that Steve recognized as his own. He'd brought what was left of the fish as well as the bottle of wine. 

“Not much chicken left, and it was full of sand. How's your breathing?” Bucky asked, and though his speech was short, it took Steve right back to the needy state he'd been in before. Luckily, Bucky had lifted himself up with his strong upper body to perch on the shelf, his tail still mostly submerged. 

“Fine.” Steve managed. His teeth started chattering, though, and Bucky clucked at him and began tugging at his shirt. 

Steve stripped out of it quickly, and Bucky brushed his claws gently over Steve's erect nipples.  
“Any other human would have their tongue down my throat by now.” Bucky remarked casually. 

“I want to.” Steve told him honestly. “Would you be okay with that?” He felt like he was fighting, in the same way those first swimming classes had been a fight. But he'd won, then, too. 

“Stubborn little jerk.” Bucky said fondly, and dragged him into his lap again. 

Steve squirmed forward, rubbing himself against where Bucky's dick would have been, if he was a human still.  
“Not so little anymore.” He told him, smirking. But after another dip of his hips failed to find any hardness there, he pressed a kiss to the corner of Bucky's lips, then turned his head to the side to ask,  
“How does this work?” 

Bucky looked uncomfortable.  
“Depends. I could use my hands, or my mouth-- I'd be careful.” With his voice and its accompanying qualities, all of that sounded so amazing that Steve could hardly think. He put his hand up and pressed his fingers to Bucky's lips, stopping him from saying any more, not trusting himself not to come from words alone. 

Bucky opened his mouth until Steve's fingertips rested against his fangs, and then he opened those, too, so that he could trace the fingers with that wickedly promising tongue.  
Steve pulled his hand back and kissed away Bucky's stupid smirk. 

“Give me your hand. I want you to show me where-- how you work. You're not just going to get me off, if we're doing this, we're doing it right.” He spoke firmly, even though he could feel the muscled in his thighs shaking from the overwhelming need. Bucky was idly flipping his fin back and forth in the water, and his muscled were moving beneath the surface that Steve's legs were spread over, teasing him despite Bucky's silence. 

Bucky raised his hand and pursed his lips, again looking away from Steve. Steve turned his face back towards him with his left hand while closing the connection with his right. 

He saw Bucky's tail under better light than they were in now, saw from Bucky's point of view his own wandering hands, down and down, the scales sliding under his fingers, his nails tapping against them and making a noise that, even underwater, was somehow pleasant. His fingers found the slit below his belly button, the long, deep one, and he traced it for a moment, fingers dipping over it before coming back up to rub at the stretch of skin between there and his navel. 

Tingles built, and Steve couldn't tell whether it was the arousal in his own body or Bucky's memories, or both, but it felt like a brick settling low in his stomach. And then-- there!  
It looked exactly like his own cock, it just stayed tucked away, for hydrodynamic purposes or something, Steve didn't know, all that mattered was that it was there, and looked nothing like an animal-- not that he would have cared, he insisted over the connection. It was Bucky. Bucky was beautiful. He loved him, no matter what parts he had or didn't. Speaking of didn't, though... his balls were no where to be seen. 

“Inside.” Bucky murmured softly, and Steve jerked a nod, keeping his eyes closed tightly while he watched Bucky's memory of teasing himself further erect, taking himself in hand, and beginning to pump. That much, Steve was familiar with, though he'd never known how Bucky did it, what he liked. His fingers were so long and graceful now, and he added a twist to his wrist each time he reached the head. Steve made note of that, then promptly lost the concentration to do so when he saw Bucky's other hand enter his field of vision, darting lower to another slit, below where his cock came out. 

“Is that--” He asked, and in response, Bucky dipped a hand into his shorts and rubbed down his crack, until the pad of his middle finger rested on the furled muscle of his hole. 

“Ohh.” Steve managed, the word turning into a moan. 

“You can fuck me, if you want.” Bucky told him softly when Steve moved his hands, breaking the touch to grab hold of Bucky's shoulders.

“N-no.” Steve managed, unable to believe the words coming out of his mouth, but unable to deny the lightning bolt of arousal that stemmed from even the gentle pressure Bucky was applying to his ass.  
“Want you in me. Please.”  
He felt desperate, downright wanton, and couldn't really bring himself to care. 

“You're sure? I mean...” Bucky trailed off as he watched Steve arch at the sound of his words. Steve reached down, not for his own dick, but to find the slit for Bucky's. It was lower than it would be if he didn't have a tail, and Steve ended up reaching behind him, gentle fingers probing hurriedly, and quickly locating the very tip, just beginning to slide free of the sheath. 

Bucky gasped when Steve dipped his fingers in a little way to rub over the head, coaxing it further until he could take hold of it. Bucky scrambled with the ties at the front of Steve's board shorts, but lost patience and ripped through them with his nails, making Steve shudder with another wave of arousal. 

Bucky's webbed fingers lent a different sort of friction to his tugs, and Steve was thrusting into his grip, grinding his balls down against the top of Bucky's muscular trunk. Beneath him, Bucky's tail was thrashing. He could hear the splashes behind them, and feel the way his body bunched, tensed and moved. 

“You wanna be in me?” He asked breathlessly, humping into Bucky's fist. “Ready to get up inside, fill me up?” His words didn't have mermaid magic or whatever the fuck that was behind them, but he was horny enough not to care. It seemed to have a similar effect on his friend just the same, because Bucky moaned and brought their mouths crashing together, little pleas working their way, half formed, into Steve's mouth. 

It affected him just the same, and he climbed up and off of Bucky, standing on the slippery rock on unstable legs.  
“Do you have extra oil? For the lamp?” Steve asked, and Bucky grabbed it while Steve kicked his trunks off.  
He watched with hungry eyes while Bucky spread a generous amount over his cock, and Steve reached for the bottle, but Bucky moved it away from him. 

“Lay down. I want to open you up.”  
Steve moaned and dropped to his knees in the bed of seaweed, finding it surprisingly plush for stiff aquatic plants. He spread himself out and tried to look over his shoulder when Bucky rolled over and lay on his chest between Steve's legs. Bucky took hold of a butt cheek in each hand and spread them, giving no warning before he brought his tongue to lick up and down Steve's crack, the broad flat of it no warmer than his hands had been. He was all cold blooded now, and Steve was reminded of Bucky's need to find warmer waters soon-- but he promptly lost that thought when the thin tip of his tongue began pressing into him. 

“Oh my God, Buck!” Steve cried out, words garbled as he moved his head to one side and got a mouthful of seaweed. He spat it out quickly and yelped as more of Bucky's tongue entered him, following up on the unspoken tease at dinner. He arched his back, trying to push himself up and get more of Bucky in him, an action that proved ineffective as Bucky pushed him down with his grip on his ass and laughed around his own tongue.

“Buck-- Bucky please.” He was begging already, and Bucky pulled his tongue out, licking around his mouth like he'd found a new favorite dessert. 

“Please what?” He teased, voice sinfully low and intentionally seductive, and Steve nearly blew his load right then.  
“Please in me, please please inside, Bucky, James, please.” He felt like he was shaking apart at the seams, just trying to hold on, and Bucky didn't say another word, but the oil being poured over him told him he was about to get exactly what he was asking for. His teeth chattered and his toes felt numb, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered but getting Bucky as deep inside of him as quickly as possible. 

“Have you done this before, Steve?” Bucky asked, voice still a velvety purr. 

“No. No, please, just--”

“I'll be careful.” Bucky told him, amusement coloring the sex of his voice, and then he was pulling himself upwards, his arms flexing and his fin dragging along behind. When he settled his weight onto Steve, he could feel the scales pressing into the soft skin of his ass, and groaned at the sensation.  
He could only imagine the marks he would have on him the next day. 

“Breathe.” Bucky instructed again, and as Steve exhaled, he pressed inwards. For one wild moment, Steve thought it wouldn't fit, thought that he wasn't ready or they were no longer compatible, that it just wouldn't go in-- but the panic gave way as his clenched muscle gave out and Bucky breached his hole. 

He sucked air in quickly, surprised by the sting, and Bucky held perfectly still.  
“Are you okay?” He asked, and that was enough to overpower the pain. Head reeling, Steve nodded yes, and Bucky began tiny sawing motions, working his way slowly deeper, afraid to hurt him any further. 

“Talk to me.” Steve gasped, and Bucky stilled again, certain that he had done something wrong for Steve to need that-- to want it. “God, Bucky, I missed you so much. I love you, you... you're my everything.” Steve was babbling, and Bucky understood. 

“You too.” His voice felt raw. “When I was drowning, I thought of you, didn't want to leave you. Not a day went by where I didn't think of you, want you-- and then I saw you, and you had changed so much, and I realized, why-- why would you want a monster?” He was still sliding into him, small thrusts, but his hands tightened around Steve's shoulders, and Steve's breath hitched. 

“You're-- not a monster.” He said, fighting through the cloud of lust that had descended on his brain. “Wanted you the moment I saw-- so beautiful. Not a monster. Love you.” It was disjointed, each statement punctuated by a thrust from Bucky and a grunt from him. 

“Never want to lose you again.” Steve said, and Bucky bit his lip, his hips snapping quicker, body undulating into a rhythm. He brushed over a tiny pleasure node inside of him, and Steve gasped.

“Oh Bucky. More, come on. So far in me you can't leave.” Steve knew he was babbling nonsense at this point. He didn't care. He managed to rise up, get his knees under him, taking the weight of Bucky's torso on his back. Bucky's tail gave him the leverage he needed to keep thrusting, and Steve's arms shook. 

Bucky wrapped an arm around and caught Steve's leaking prick in his palm, jerking it in time with the pounding in his ass, which became less orderly and closer to punishing. Sensing how close they both were, Bucky started talking again. 

 

“Love you Steve. Love you, love you, love you--” it became a chant, a litany, and with that as their soundtrack, Steve finished, spilling his cum over Bucky's webbing. The muscled throughout his body seized as he experienced what was easily the most powerful orgasm of his life. 

Bucky wasn't far behind, another two thrusts, and he spilled himself deep inside of Steve, pulling him backwards off of the rock shelf and into the water before he slid out. 

The salt water surged into the emptiness that Steve suddenly felt far too keenly, and he could feel the muscles of his ass fluttering in an attempt to close, to keep at least some small party of Bucky with him. But Bucky clutched him to his chest, letting Steve's head loll back against his shoulder. 

“Shhhh.” Bucky said softly. He took Steve's hand in his and gave him the memory of a more human Bucky, singing to Steve while he lay in bed sick and floating on a fever dream. 

Steve's eyes drooped closed, and he nearly slept, save for the sudden onset of shivers. Bucky frowned. 

“You have to get warm.” He whispered harshly, and though Steve felt a tiny stir of interest in the pit of his stomach, he was too sated to be ready to go again so soon. 

“I'm taking you back now. Go to your house. Dry off, get warm... I will see you tomorrow. The sun will be up soon-- come back tomorrow night.”

Steve shook his head, but Bucky had the stubborn look on his face that Steve knew all too well. 

“Breathe.” He said, and Steve took a gulp of air. A minute later, he was back on land, wrapping himself in their picnic blanket while he rushed around to collect the scattered debris that was all that remained of dinner. 

He drove home in a fog of exhaustion and satisfaction, started a fire, pulled blankets from his bed down, and fell asleep curled up in front of it, sore, confused, worried about the future-- but happy.  
For the first time in a long time, Steve was really happy. A smile stole over his face as he drifted off to sleep. 

He called in sick the next day, and it wasn't inaccurate. His legs still felt like jelly and his ass was sore. His head pounded and he felt the achy soreness that heralded the onset of a cold. He chugged some orange juice and popped a few vitamins, then took a long hot shower. 

He'd been right-- he was rubbed a little raw in places, courtesy of Bucky's scales, but he wasn't annoyed. He brushed over the red skin with his fingertips, glad at least to have that much. 

Waiting for the day to end was torturous, and napping made it pass quicker. He snuggled up in his blankets and by the time he woke, the sun was starting to set, and he didn't feel quite so sick. 

Bucky was resting his head on his arms on top of the rock that they usually met on, by the time he got there. From a little ways back, he had to marvel at how he would never guess that Bucky was anything but some guy, just relaxing in the water. 

When he got closer, though, Bucky pulled himself back, looking warily at him.  
Steve rolled his eyes.  
“Don't.” He said, holding up a hand. “I don't hate you. I still love you. But I'm a little sore, so let's stick to nonverbal for a tonight, if that's okay?”

He was glad they had a way of communicating that didn't send him melting into a puddle of sexual tension.  
Bucky came tentatively forward, and Steve put his hand out, offering it to him. Bucky took it without hesitation, and Steve felt a flush of gladness. He didn't know if it was his own or from Bucky, but he echoed it through the bond, just in case. 

“I brought you some more fish, tonight. Did yesterday's hold you over today?” He asked. Bucky nodded. 

Steve was quiet a second, trying to think of what else he needed to say, but Bucky sent him the memory of the night before, through his eyes, tinted with the horrified thought that he was hurting Steve. Steve squeezed his hand tight. 

“One, no, here--” He sent back his own impression, letting Bucky feel just how good it had been, how complete and loved and satisfied he felt. He watched the tension bleed out of Bucky's bearings. “And two, why weren't we doing this in the middle of sex? Can you imagine feeling both sides at once?” Bucky shivered, then grinned and tapped Steve on the forehead with his free hand, the way he used to when Steve did well at school. 

But the smile faded, and he sent the images again of needing to swim to warmer waters, of going south as winter came in. 

“So I guess you can't grow legs or anything like that, huh?” Steve asked sadly. Bucky made a regretful little noise and shook his head no. “Look, I'm not happy about it, but it's bad enough you not being able to get food for yourself right now-- I can't be the reason behind you getting sick from being too cold. But... promise me you'll come back? I can't-- it's going to be hard, not being able to talk to you.” Steve felt close to tears. 

Bucky surged upwards, dragging his upper body across the rock to loop his elbow around Steve's neck. Steve grabbed him and pulled him to his chest, lifting him part of the way out of the water to hold onto him. 

Bucky sent him a memory, from back when they lived together.  
“I'll be back before you know it.” Memory-Bucky told Steve, who was busily peeling potatoes for dinner. “Promise.” 

That was all it took- Steve burst into tears, burying his wet face into Bucky's long wet hair.

“It's just a few months, right? Like a vacation, you'll be back soon.” Steve was trying to console himself through it, and Bucky nodded encouragingly. 

“Where will you go?” Steve asked, and Bucky frowned, probably trying to find a good landmark in his memory to give Steve. Eventually he found it, a memory of a picture of a large Christ statue, his arms reaching out across the sky.  
“Rio?” Steve asked, not sure why he was surprised. Bucky nodded and bumped their heads together gently.  
“I have-- I have vacation time. Maybe, if I take Christmas off, I could come see you in Rio?” Steve asked, and Bucky gave him a look and sent him the emotions of both surprise and pleasure. He nodded. 

He gave Steve a memory, from the bay in Rio, and then swimming across to the other side, where it was less populated and the shelf of sand dropped off a bit, making the water deeper and easier to hide in. Directly opposite a slate-like waterfront mountain, there was a rocky outcropping covered in trees, the underside of which was dotted with caves, like the one Bucky had found here. 

“Where will you meet me?” Steve asked. 

Bucky sent him the image of a sandy U shaped beach just off the freeway, and to the south of that, a single canoe shaped rock that jutted out into the ocean. 

“Alright.” Steve said, memorizing the look of the place. “I'll find it.” He promised. “I'll find you.”  
Bucky squeezed his hand again, and Steve gave him one last sweet, lingering kiss. Then he took off the cloth bag he'd brought the fish in, and gave it to Bucky. 

“See you in Rio, punk.” He told him. Then, softer, “I love you.” 

“You too.” Bucky said, and then he turned and dove away before his words could have any more effect on Steve. 

He sat there watching the ocean until the sun rose, the cold and quiet sinking into his bones, but when he stood, it was determined to get to work. He needed to plan his trip, but before then, he had a den he needed to convert to an indoor lagoon. Next time, he was going to bring Bucky home, if only for a little while.

With a spring in his step, Steve headed back home to change and get ready for the day ahead of him.  
He could hardly wait.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [What Would I Give? Everything I Have](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5526623) by [kawherp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawherp/pseuds/kawherp)




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